


Two Against One

by frabjousday (frabjous)



Category: Revenge (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-14
Updated: 2012-01-14
Packaged: 2017-10-29 12:40:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/319985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frabjous/pseuds/frabjousday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emily will burn the Hamptons to the ground and Nolan will laugh.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two Against One

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'ed and written in response to 1.12 Infamy. Title comes from Danger Mouse & Daniele Luppi song, Two Against One, which I had on loop while writing this.

Emily can destroy him like an afterthought, but she doesn’t, and that’s how Nolan knows she loves him in her own special way. He imagines it anyway, shudders inwardly at the thought of holding her complete attention, plans and lies so sharp they can cut into his skin. She’d be so thorough, so careful to make Nolan’s fall from grace look like an accident, leave his body bleeding and battered to salt the earth with whatever was left.

But for one brilliant moment he’ll be the centre of her focus and Nolan will know for sure she’s only thinking about one thing. She’ll burn him from the inside so he’ll never recover. He’ll never want to.

A survival tactic or a self-destructive personality? Nolan throws himself at her mercy, because you either move out of the warpath or get cut down. Or option C: you pick up the closest knife and start chopping away as well.

Emily makes demands like she’s entitled to him and the world - police documents, video footage, a few million in change and all Nolan can think is _yes yes, take it all_ but of course she doesn’t. She takes and tosses the rest (people, mercy, emotional attachment), and trusts Nolan to pick up the pieces.

“Ems,” he breathes. “Emily.” Amanda’s name is at the tip of his tongue.

When Emily fixes her gaze on him she sees through the lazy drawl and too-casual poses, the way he leans in like her secrets are his to keep, and she knows exactly what’s making him tick. That’s part of what Nolan loves. God, he must be a masochist because he loves that she sees everything, that she’ll use this and she’ll use him, and that she already has and already does.

Nolan doesn’t mind being caught. It’s these glimpses of her that are the most breathtaking.

He’s on his knees and he isn’t sure what they’re playing, some game with rusted hearts. Emily holds his face in her palm, and when she brushes his lips he opens for her, takes her fingers to the knuckle and she doesn’t make a sound. He’s on his knees so Emily has an unobscured view of her kingdom, all the better to survey your path of death and destruction, my dear.

Emily won’t let him fuck her, won’t let him touch or taste her skin like he wants to. He wonders what she’s like for Daniel, whether she’s perfect in that game like everything else. Does she make the right sounds, whisper the right promises, time her moans so they’re perfectly in sync, the perfect lovers? (No, Daniel won’t want that.) Does she gasp his name and flutter her eyelashes then, does she ask him if they can “spice things up in the bedroom”, coy like she read it in a magazine?

Nolan kneels at the end of bed and he’s being allowed to watch. She stares into space, lips parted, skin flushed. Emily fucks herself silently and ruthlessly like everything else she does. The only indication she’s getting off is the shallow, ragged sound of her breathing.

He allows himself the luxurious thought that she does this because Daniel doesn’t (can’t) give her what she wants. Then again, there’s only one thing Emily ever wants, so maybe she only does this for the same reason she does anything - a means to an end, a way to keep her enemies and friends in close reach.

She comes with a roll of her hips and a sound so small that Nolan almost misses it. It should be a vulnerable moment, but Emily’s untouchable because it feels like she’s claimed a victory. Their eyes meet (Nolan’s heavy lids and her steel gaze) and for a second they understand each other perfectly.

Then she’s climbing off the bed, thighs brushing his shoulders too briefly for him to feel the heat of her skin. She slips past him as if he isn’t there and as if she doesn’t see the strained fabric of his pants. Maybe she doesn’t. Nolan undoes himself with clumsy hands, exhales shakily when he palms his cock in her bedroom, the smell of Emily in the air and on the sheets and in his lungs.

The sound of a shower running comes on behind him. He’ll let himself out then.

*

Another entry on the list of things they don’t talk about, but it’s low on the list under David Clarke, Jack Porter, the new Amanda Clarke, her poor life choices - but who’s Nolan trying to kid? This is the Emily he wants, whose exoskeleton is made of titanium but with promises of a chewy liquid centre for anyone who dares to go looking.

When his phone rings it’s Emily.

Nolan tilts his head towards the earpiece and asks, “Have we done something naughty again?”

Her voice is warm this time, and he imagines he can hear her smile. “Come to mine,” she says, “and find out.”

Emily will burn the Hamptons to the ground and Nolan will laugh, and he won’t care about being caught in the fire.


End file.
